


Sherlolly 8: Happy Birthday

by George_Sand



Series: George_Sand Sherlolly Series 1 [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Molly, Cake, Explosion, F/M, Fire, Fish and Chips, Flowers, Fluff, Gen, Holding Hands, Safety, Self-Defense, Sherlock's Birthday, bamf!Molly, boyfriend - Freeform, kitchen, pub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:24:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_Sand/pseuds/George_Sand
Summary: Molly and Sherlock go out for his birthday.Part 8 of George_Sand Sherlolly Series 1, please read in order, as they build on each otherAs they walk away from the pub, Molly asks Sherlock what he would like for his birthday.  Without pause, and with a little too much enthusiasm, he says “A sewer map,” and Molly regrets asking because she knows it’s true.Then, teasingly, she asks, “What wouldIlike formybirthday?  You probably know better than I do.”Sherlock looks at her mockingly, “And ruin the secret?!  Never!” then, smiling, “You’ll find out in eighty days.  Your birthday is March twenty seventh, if I’m not mistaken.”  He knows he’s not.Refusing to act impressed, Molly assumes a haughty air and jokes, “Well, Sherlock, that’s plenty of time for planning, so I expect to receive something fantastic.”But Sherlock replies, in all seriousness “You will get something you didn’t even know you wanted,” and smiles.  He takes her hand, kisses it, and holds it as they walk.





	

_Cake?  – SH_

_What?  – MH_

_It’s my birthday and John says cake is obligatory. – SH_

_Happy Birthday, Love! – MH_

_Where does one find cake? – SH_

_Just leaving Bart’s, I’ll come to Baker Street. – MH_

          Watching at the window, Sherlock finds Molly almost skipping up Baker Street.  Smiling at the sight, he picks up his Belstaff and whirls it over his shoulders as he goes down the hall stairs.  Opening the door, he leaves the slightly smoky air of the flat and emerges into sunshine, meeting Molly at the doorstep.

           Molly exclaims “Happy birthday!” peers behind Sherlock, “Where’s John?” and wrinkles her nose, “What’s that smell?”

           Sherlock lightly catches Molly’s hand and kisses the back.  “Thank you.  I don’t know, I just noticed him gone a few minutes ago.”  Molly rolls her eyes as he continues, “Nothing to worry about.  Where are we going?”

           Molly squints up the street, “I think there’s a bakery on Park Road.” 

          Sherlock offers Molly his arm and she accepts.  “A kiss on the hand?  Walking arm in arm?  What’s come over you?”  She has to walk quickly to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides, and their arms bump and jostle sycophantically.   Giving up, she lets go if his elbow and settles for his hand.

           “It’s my birthday,” says Sherlock, as if that explains his sudden affinity for public displays of affection.  Behind closed doors, Sherlock is more gentle and unpretentious than Molly could ever have imagined, but in public, even a kiss on the hand is unusually intimate.  With everyone but Molly, Sherlock is still brusque and arrogant, and Molly cherishes the trust demonstrated in his behavior toward her.  She is pleased that Sherlock is becoming less keen on hiding his sentiment, and she is happy to take his hand as they walk.  They talk easily as they move toward Park. 

          Suddenly, Sherlock states “I should get something for Mrs. Hudson,” and Molly notices that they are at Flower Station. 

          Confused at his thoughtfulness, Molly asks, “Why?” and thinks, _Holding hands?  Flowers for Mrs. Hudson?  What’s next, a new jumper for John?_

          Sherlock replies, absently, “They like that, don’t they?  Housekeepers, er, landladies?”  Noticing Molly’s quizzical look he continues, “She hasn’t noticed yet, but there was a…minor explosion in the kitchen yesterday and a large portion of the ceiling is charred.” 

          Molly looks at Sherlock, incredulous.  She doesn’t know if she should be proud of his thoughtfulness or exasperated at the explosion…and his notion that flowers will atone for it.  But Molly knows that Sherlock really does love Mrs. Hudson, and that a bouquet would make her ecstatic. 

          They approach the tubs of flowers and begin to browse.  Some bright gerbera daisies catch Molly’s eye and she asks, conversationally, “How bad is the burn?”

          Without shame, Sherlock says, “most of the ceiling and the tops of one or two cabinets.”

          Molly glares at Sherlock, abandons the gerbera, and heads straight toward the largest roses she can see.  Sherlock raises an eyebrow, but as he watches Molly create a large bouquet, he begins a discourse on native English pollens.  After several minutes, Molly is satisfied with her work and hands her chosen flowers to Sherlock, who takes them absently and finishes, “…never found in shops.”

          Seeing Molly’s confused expression, Sherlock repeats, “I would buy them for you, if they were available.  _Mirabilis jalapa_ , ‘Four o’clock flowers’.” 

          Molly grins, “Why?  Because it takes them so long to open up?”

          Sherlock brushes his nose on the top of Molly’s head.  “No, because they smell good.” 

          Then, looking up, he reads “’Windsor Castle Pub.’  John likes to take dates there.  Shall we?”

\--

          Molly sprinkles more vinegar onto her chips and takes a bite before looking up to find Sherlock staring at her, steepled hands under his chin.  As if continuing a sentence he never began, he says, “…and you’re not at all worried about living alone?  I doubt your block of knives is sufficient to keep you safe, Molly Hooper.”

           “What!?”

           “When you found me sitting at your kitchen table last week.  When you were startled, your eyes went to your knife block.  An intelligent weapon, but hardly useful if your assailant has immobilized you.” 

           “What!?” 

           “You’re a single woman, living alone in the middle of town, without appreciable physical strength or defenses.  Except your knives.”  And then looking into her eyes, “I worry about you.”

          She responds, kindly, “You don’t need to worry, I can take care of myself.  With or without knives.”

           “Molly –“

           “Sherlock,” she cuts him off, “I’m fine.”  Then, grasping to change the subject, “You know I’ve never seen you eat?”

          Sherlock scoffs, “Of course you’ve seen me eat, we have literal coffee together several times a week.”

          Molly raises an eyebrow.  “Drinking coffee is not eating.  When do you eat?”  Then, thinking of the usual contents of his refrigerator, “ _What_ do you eat?”

          Sherlock waves a hand dismissively.  “Oh, I don’t know, Mrs. Hudson is always bringing round biscuits and tea, and John seems to make meals fairly regularly.  I probably join him now and again.” 

          He watches as Molly puts her face in her palm, then looks at him, laughing, through her fingers.  He revels in her disbelieving smile and indulgent eyes, and remembers her behavior before they ever had coffee (literal or otherwise).  She had seemed so mousey and small, even painfully awkward.  The confidence that had so surprised him at her home seemed to be trickling into her public interactions with Sherlock, and into her relationships with everyone else. 

\-- 

          As they walk away from the pub, Molly asks Sherlock what he would like for his birthday.  Without pause, and with a little too much enthusiasm, he says “A sewer map,” and Molly regrets asking because she knows it’s true.  

          Then, teasingly, she asks, “What would _I_ like for _my_ birthday?  You probably know better than I do.” 

          Sherlock looks at her mockingly, “And ruin the secret?!  Never!” then, smiling, “You’ll find out in eighty days.  Your birthday is March twenty seventh, if I’m not mistaken.”  He knows he’s not.

          Refusing to act impressed, Molly assumes a haughty air and jokes, “Well, Sherlock, that’s plenty of time for planning, so I expect to receive something fantastic.”

          But Sherlock replies, in all seriousness “You will get something you didn’t even know you wanted,” and smiles.  He takes her hand, kisses it, and holds it as they walk. 

          After a few companionably silent moments Molly takes a few quick steps to come in front of, and facing, Sherlock.  Fire in her eyes, her elbow flies into his trachea, her knee into his groin.  As he doubles over, crying out in alarm, her elbow strikes between his shoulder blades, she grabs his ears, and his forehead meets her knee.  Sherlock rolls to the ground and she kicks him in the stomach.  Nearby pedestrians run toward them, shouting and offering help.  Molly extends a hand to Sherlock, helping him up, and calls to the general crowd, 

           “We’re fine, I’m just proving a point to my boyfriend.”

          Several women clap as the crowd disperses, and Sherlock, too stunned to be embarrassed, realizes he isn’t in any pain. 

           “That was just a demonstration, I held back so I wouldn’t hurt you,” says Molly, smiling.  Then, slowly, looking right into Sherlock’s eyes, “I’m fine at home.”

          After a few seconds of shocked disbelief, Sherlock practically leaps to Molly in his excitement, grabs her shoulders, and exclaims “Brilliant! _"_

**Author's Note:**

> This work has not been beta-ed please send constructive criticism!


End file.
